So Much To Know
by Disastergirl
Summary: A collection of short one-shots written for the FMA fic contest on livejournal. Multiple characters.
1. An Unexpected Calling

_A/N: I decided to follow **RandomCheeses**' example and put all of the fics I wrote for the fma_fic_contest into one story on . Seeing as most of these oneshots aren't going to be more than 1000 words (if that) it seemed the sensible thing to do. _

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><p>She'd never wanted to be a spy. While, as a young boy, her brother had devoured stories of mystery and intrigue, Chris Mustang had preferred romance novels. She'd loved their tall, handsome heroes and tales of star-crossed lovers. Although Chris had always found it irritating how the heroines of these stories never seemed to do anything except sit around being tragically beautiful, waiting for their dashing (or brooding, if the novel was particularly Gothic) lover to rescue them. If <em>she<em> were one of these wealthy, attractive girls, she wouldn't be content to wait around for some hapless young man. She would carve her own way out in the world.

She had done just that. While her brother had gone east, claiming that fame, fortune and fair Xingese maidens awaited him across the desert, Chris had travelled west, to Central. Raised in a dreary mining town, the bright lights of her nation's capital called to her and it was there, among the bars and clubs of Central's raucous underworld that she found her calling. Setting up a modest bar near the red-light district had been easy; winning respect in the cut-throat industry that catered to the self-indulgent had not. But Chris had faced each challenge with steely determination, her head for business soon ensuring that customers were flocking to her (increasingly less modest) establishment. Life had seemed inexorably on the up until... an urgent phone call from Xing... hastily made arrangements... a small, sullen eyed boy on her doorstep; a nephew she'd never even known she had.

Roy had changed everything. Well earned lie-ins after a long night's work were interrupted by a tiny, fidgeting body demanding an early morning cuddle; off-colour jokes around the dinner table were traded in for discussions of the health benefits of vegetables and the joys of obeying one's elders. But the biggest change was in Chris herself. She'd never cared for children, but Roy had stolen his way into her heart. Chris loved him as if he was her own and she would do anything to keep him safe.

How that had led to her running the biggest non-governmental spy network in the whole of Amestris, she was never quite sure. After Roy had returned from Ishval, he'd been a changed man. Gone was the cheerful, naive boy she'd raised, in his place, a haunted, battle-weary soldier. Roy's idealism hadn't changed, however. When he'd first told her he meant to overthrow Bradley, she'd half-feared it was some elaborate suicide plan, but he'd made her see that change was possible.

But for that, he'd need to be constantly well-informed. It'd been a simple matter to build up her network; her girls were unflinchingly loyal and she had contacts everywhere. For Roy's sake, she'd spun her web of gossip-gatherers and informants around the city, its sensitive threads ready to pick up any tremor of danger, any hint of opportunity. Her son was playing a dangerous game, but she'd make sure he was not alone.


	2. All Earthly Passions

He had been lost, at first. After so many years struggling to attain his goal, he had finally escaped from the cursed flask that had been his prison for so long. He had his own body, fashioned, as was proper, in the likeness of his only kin. He was truly the master of his own destiny. Yet what was his freedom for?

He had been planning for that day since his very conception. The whole horizon of human knowledge held within him, it was inconceivable that he would be content to waste away the millennia trapped, formless, inside a cage of glass. As his blood kin, the enslaved youth he had named 'Hoenheim' so often liked to remark, he was no more than a 'dwarf in a flask', reliant upon the shifting whims of humans for even his very existence. To be so dependent on such craven, pitiful creatures... it was a horror he could not endure.

It was that same contemptible twist of human nature that gave him his freedom. In their greed they had reached out to him, their pride and lust for power blinding their envious eyes to his true plans. As if he would ever have truly given them the secret to immortality! The vengeful wrath within him burned for him to bring destruction upon his masters. He had felt no remorse in sacrificing them all for his own ends.

It saddened him that Hoenheim had not seen things his way. He had been sure that his blood kin would have been grateful for the gift he had been given, flattered, even, by the form he had chosen as his new earthly vessel. But Hoenheim's hatred and disgust had been written clearly upon his face and it was with the loss of the one human he had ever thought to share the world with that he had finally been free to give reign to all the terrible passions and sins within him.

For years he had idly wandered the earth, taking all that he desired and sparing none that awoke his anger. He denied himself nothing, yet he was not content. Was _this_ what he had for so long yearned to obtain? To be ruled by these meaningless passions and desires of the flesh? _Passion distorts truth and it is by the pursuit of truth alone that perfection can be obtained. _If he wished to gain, he must first sacrifice.

One by one, he gave life and form to his sins. He could see his own pride reflected in the many eyes of his eldest child, felt his wrath burning in the blood of his youngest. It seemed fitting to him, that having spurned the name given by his creators, he now found something akin to joy in the title bestowed upon him by his own creations. _Father_.


	3. As Good As They Come

_Carbon, ammonia, lime... phosphorus, calcium, sulphur and sodium... _

Breda poured the remaining materials onto the array before stepping back, hardly bothering to hide the look of apprehension on his face. The blood from the raw pork remains already stained the warehouse floor, seeping into the etched lines of the array. The total mass of all the "ingredients" was roughly 56kg, about the same as 2nd lieutenant Ross. Not that it would make much of a difference anyway. Knox would see to it that no one ever got close enough to check.

A final glance at the congealing mound of organic remains and chemicals and Roy knelt down, the lines of the array flickering through his mind. Relatively simple alchemy, and not beyond his abilities. Professor Hawkeye had seen to it that he had received a thorough education in all alchemical fields, after all.

Roy pressed his hands against the outer line of the circle, picturing the transmutation one last time before the familiar, unearthly luminescence enveloped the array. Covalent bonds broke, dipoles reversed, proteins unravelled and dissolved into their amino acids, rebuilding themselves into new forms. Bones twisted and elongated, muscle fibres knitting themselves neatly alongside. The shifting mass slowly began to take on the appearance of a human body, the air crackling with energy as each new layer of tissue melded into place.

After only a few minutes, the reaction was complete. The eerie blue glow faded, casting the warehouse back into the dull half-shadow of sickly electrical lighting and the final rays of sunset. The counterfeit body lay cleanly on the floor, all traces of blood absorbed into the transmutation. Pallid skin stretched tautly over wasted muscles and twisted bone. It was a macabre marionette that could never be mistaken for a human being but it would be perfectly adequate for his purposes.

It was now time to get the second part of the plan underway. Breda would see to it that the body was delivered to Havoc's hiding place in time to make the switch and Roy needed to return to Central Headquarters so the military could watch as he played out his role. As for the remaining variables... Roy could only trust that Barry would be able to deliver Ross to the agreed-upon location without further endangering her life. Being forced to rely upon the erratic whims of a deranged, undead serial killer for the success of such a delicate operation was certainly not ideal but there was no other choice. The pieces had all been set into motion and now there was nothing to do but hope that they followed the route planned out for them.

Two hours later and Roy had to struggle not to be sick at the expression of pure terror on Maria Ross' face. It was the same fear he had seen in the eyes of countless Ishvalans before he had snapped his fingers and consumer their bodies in flames, their death a protracted agony of charred flesh and gradually diminishing screams. But not this time. This time, he was going to save a life, not end one.

Her fear quickly turned to bewilderment and revulsion as he grabbed the fake body from the bin, throwing it to the alley floor.

"It's a dummy," he told her curtly, trying to keep his tone as unfeeling as possible. As much as he wanted to explain everything, he needed to keep himself detached. In only a few moments, he would have to pretend to the world that he had murdered this woman in cold blood, after all.

"What..."she started to speak, clearly struggling to remain calm. Roy cut her off harshly. There was no time to allay her fears.

"After tonight, you are a dead woman."

A deep breath and a snap of his fingers, the sound seeming gunshot-loud in the silence of the alley. The flames shot out towards the dummy, a blaze stronger than any he'd summoned since Ishval. The cloying, all too familiar, scent of roasting flesh floated through the air and he struggled not to cough as plumes of thick, white smoke filled the alley once the flames were extinguished. The body was barely more than charcoal now, indistinguishable from the incinerated remains of all other human beings. Of course, his military colleagues would be disgusted at the thought that he had dared use the powers that made him the 'Hero of Ishval' against even a supposed criminal of Amestrian blood. Yet in the end, they would simply shake their heads and conclude that the fame and glory reaped upon him after the war must have gone to his head. Regrettable, certainly, but not completely unexpected. He would be despised for this, but at least his story would not be questioned. If the fear and hatred of a few military personnel was all he would have to endure to save Maria Ross' life, then it was a small price to pay.


End file.
